


The Future Is Determined By You

by boxofhatebrains



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, M/M, Not Beta Read, Not Gundam Wing: Frozen Teardrop Compliant, Post-War, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:14:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27763579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxofhatebrains/pseuds/boxofhatebrains
Summary: After wandering through life, Heero wonders what happened to Trowa..."A thought suddenly bursts into my mind: where was Trowa? In the PSA, why wasn't he on? Did he refuse? Was he not around? Did he return to the circus and break off his ties? Is he wandering, as well? Or is he dead?The question rolls around in my head, sinks in there, no matter how hard I try to push it away. I'm curious. I wonder what happened to Trowa; I have a surprising concern. As I trudge along in the cold, in the winter, little memories of him sprout and tangle in my current thoughts; the way he'd touch me when wrapping my wounds after rescuing me, the way he smelled after fighting, how he always dumped a lot of salt into his food, and when he'd get up in the middle of the night to get something to drink and just sit, thinking."
Relationships: Heero Yuy/Original Character(s), Trowa Barton/Heero Yuy, Trowa Barton/Quatre Raberba Winner
Kudos: 7





	1. The Future

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dracadancer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracadancer/gifts).



I'm watching a tv screen from the outside of the store. I was walking by, wandering on, but it caught my eye. As I was passing it up, I suddenly saw Duo standing in front of a white background. His name was pasted at the bottom of the screen.  
  
Duo's familiar smile is glossy and warm on the tv as he says, "The world is getting better, safer, and that's thanks to you."  
  
Quatre joins Duo, smiling just as welcoming and honest.  
  
"Violence has been dropping within the last years," his wide smile gushes, "And that's thanks to your support. More families can live without fear or worry. We can truly heal."  
  
Wufei's smile is forced and his body is stiff. I can tell that he was most likely pushed in front of the camera, perhaps literally. His name is mis-spelled below his face; Wuufei Chang. I'm sure he was livid. It seems like something he'd be furious about since he's proud. He's very proud of his name and history...

But who knows, maybe he's changed.  
  
"The Preventers have been successful in upholding peace thanks to your efforts. Remember, all weapons must be registered and used with caution and respect. All illegal weapons must be reported to authorities."  
  
Then they all smile into the camera and say in unison, "The future is determined by you!"  
  
After that, a game show returns and I continue walking. However, my thoughts remain on the few seconds of video that I saw.  
  
It's good to see their faces, even if pixilated, even if not within a thousand miles of me. They all looked healthy and happy, and it somehow leaves me hot and cold. I'm glad that they're well, but I feel on the outside, looking in on family I’ve left behind. Just like anyone else watching it, that's how it feels. I'm no longer a part of their social circle, I'm just like a civilian now...  
  
Which was my choice, so I'm not bitter. It just feels odd.  
  
I don't think I would have done it, the PSA, I mean. I'm not good in front of a camera; I'm not photogenic. Duo said that once when he wanted a picture of us together. I don't even know how it turned out, I didn't wait around to find out. I just needed space. I just needed a break. I needed obscurity and anonymity. I think I had to figure out what the world was like on the other side, the civilian side of life. Without death and killing, how did people live and grow? So, I've been studying it and observing people, just to know myself, _and the others_ , deeper and better.  
  
And it's been boring, I'm sorry to say. It's interesting, too. It's fascinating seeing how people react to different situations and how they become the way they are. Watching people change is unique, however, when you start seeing patterns, it becomes predictable. It alienates me even more because the more patterns I see, the more I can't relate to them...  
  
A thought suddenly bursts into my mind: where was Trowa? In the PSA, why wasn't he on? Did he refuse? Was he not around? Did he return to the circus and break off his ties? Is he wandering, as well? Or is he dead?  
  
The question rolls around in my head, sinks in there, no matter how hard I try to push it away. I'm curious. I wonder what happened to Trowa; I have a surprising concern. As I trudge along in the cold, in the winter, little memories of him sprout and tangle in my current thoughts; the way he'd touch me when wrapping my wounds after rescuing me, the way he smelled after fighting, how he always dumped a lot of salt into his food, and when he'd get up in the middle of the night to get something to drink and just sit, thinking. I wonder what he thought about, if just a single thought or a jumble of shorter thoughts. The war? His past?  
  
We lived closely together in that time, and in finding similarities between us, we found a comradery. He could be trusted, and I knew, shortly, that he was a man of his word. I didn't necessarily become attached, but I did become curious. I also found myself enjoying his company. We had an understanding. He never questioned me, he trusted my insight and intuition.  
  
As I lie awake in the night now, he follows me, his memory. Maybe he _is_ dead. Surely it would have been in the news, though...Right?  
  
That night, in my dreams, there's Trowa. I can't remember what it's about exactly, but he was in my dream and so was Relena. I can't even recall what kind of dream it was, just the feeling of the two of them, their memories swarming my mind when I wake up...  
  
I give in eventually and search for him.  
  
***  
  
At first I wasn't going to see him. I was just going to find out where he was and that was it, but he was relatively close to me and no longer with the circus. It was a permanent residence that I found.  
  
Again, I found myself curious about him. So, I told myself that I would just see him. I would wait for him and trail him a little. Just to see him...  
  
Yet, here I am at his door, knocking on it.  
  
He's quiet, but I can hear his footsteps moving to the door, I can hear his sharp intake of air when he sees my face through the peephole, and his pause before opening the door.  
  
He hasn't changed much physically and neither have I, so we don't take long examining each other.  
  
"What are you doing here?" he asks without malice, just wondering aloud.  
  
"I didn't see you in the PSA," I tell him frankly, "I thought you might be dead."  
  
"PSA?" he questions and slowly rubs the back of his neck.  
  
"The public service announcement that Duo, Wufei, and Quatre were in."  
  
"Oh, yeah, that," he stumbles through his words and I'm unsettled by his apprehensiveness, "They asked, but I turned it down...Quatre and I..."  
  
He trails off and I wait for him to finish, to explain it to me.  
  
"You want to come in?" he asks, finally realizing that I'm standing in the snowfall.  
  
I nod and he turns to let me in and closes the door behind me. I kick the snow off my boots and take off my coat, shaking it.  
  
"Cathy's not home right now, but I'm sure she'd be glad to see you,” he lets me know, hanging my coat up for me as I tug off my boots.  
  
I nod shortly and he excuses himself to make something warm for us to drink. When he's gone, I look around the room. It's a smaller house, but I feel something warm, not the temperature, just...  
  
I see photos in frames and can assume safely that Cathy did it, set them in the frames and hung them tenderly. I see some pictures of the circus performers, others of just Cathy and Trowa. Lions stare back at me with calmness from the frames. Jugglers and clowns barely fit into the picture grinning widely, surrounding Trowa, who has his arms crossed and has an unsteady smirk. Then I find some with the pilots. One with all of us together, and another picture with Trowa and Quatre. Trowa looks the happiest in it than all the other photos and so does Quatre. They're close, their shirts almost touching, but there's something between them, the something that I've always felt between them...  
  
And surprisingly, I see one with Duo and me...It takes me a moment to realize it's the one that Duo wanted to capture. It was forced. I stare back at my own face for a moment, then to Duo's...  
  
I wish I would have asked for a copy...  
  
Trowa returns with two mugs and slightly smiles at the picture I was bending to see. I straighten up and feel like I've been caught.  
  
"Duo sent that about a year ago. It's a good picture."  
  
I take the mug and smell the broth, replying, "Yeah, it is."  
  
"Sorry, we're out of tea or hot chocolate-"  
  
"It's fine," I answer quickly because it is, I don't want him to feel like I expect anything from him.  
  
"Want to sit down?" he asks after an awkward silence.  
  
"Yeah," I agree and we sit down on the couch together, looking into our own mugs.  
  
"It's been a while, " he says a few minutes later, "What have you been doing?"  
  
"Not too much, honestly," I tell him, "I've been just..."  
  
I can't quite elucidate what I've been doing, 'studying people' seems too unusual.  
  
"Wandering?" he tries to fit what I'm feeling and trying to convey.  
  
"Close enough. What about you?"  
  
"Well, honestly," he sighs out and leans back, "Things haven't been going the best. So, just trying to keep up with it, with life."  
  
"Oh," I reply and wonder if I should press the question. Most extroverts prefer that you ask, but some introverts tend to be defiant and irritated when pushed for an answer. And Trowa seems the type to enjoy his privacy.  
  
"How's Cathy?" I question instead.  
  
"She's been better...You've come at a rough time, Heero."  
  
His voice is raw and thin. Regret weighs down my stomach. Maybe it would have been better to just trail him...  
  
"I'm glad that you've come, though, "he continues softly, "I haven't had many that I can really...feel okay around."  
  
"What about Quatre?" I ask and I know it's sore, it _has_ to be sore, but it needs to be said. Trowa needs to say it, maybe for himself.  
  
"Quatre and I," he starts out, but stumbles.  
  
Something very cold and very tight slides into my stomach as I realize that there's tears in his eyes. Yes, should have watched from a distance. I know better for next time...  
  
"Things don't always go the way that you've planned them."  
  
I nod slowly and he stares into his cup, or maybe beyond it.  
  
"The truth is that I was the one. I was to blame. I saw him, too, on the commercial. He looks happy and I'm glad. I never meant..."  
  
"What happened, Trowa?" I directly ask him.  
  
"I got scared. I got worried. I didn't think that I deserved him. He didn't think he deserved me. He never forgave himself, you know, about what happened to me. And I never thought that we would last, so...I made sure that it wouldn't. I didn't...I shouldn't have."  
  
His breathing is ragged and erratic, as he struggles to keep it in, all those emotions. I wish I knew what to say now, how to comfort him, but everything I think of sounds to carved and used especially coming from me.  
  
"I slept with his assistant," he confesses, "I didn't even like the guy. But I did it because Quatre proposed and I thought that he didn't mean it. I thought that maybe he felt like he was making it better, you know, absolving himself in some way. I felt that we were only together because I was the one to take the first step, I was the one to tell him that I was attracted to him. He seemed to give into it too easily. He tried to make me happy too much...It's so stupid, it sounds stupid, I know, but...  
  
"Every day I found myself wondering if he even _liked_ me at all or just felt guilty...So, I slept with the guy and set it up to where Quatre would find us."  
  
There's silence as he wipes his eyes angrily and runs his hand through his hair.  
  
"To this day, I don't even know if he loved me."  
  
He shakes his head.  
  
"Then, after that," he continues, "Things just got worse. The circus went bankrupt, so we settled here. Then Cathy got pregnant and the guy ditched her, so I've just been trying to be supportive, but...I don't know. I'm not sure how to do this. I'm not sure how to take care of her, or a family. She's been having a hard time with the pregnancy, so I've been working a lot and haven't had a lot of time with her. She's been so sick...  
  
"I don't know what to do any more, Heero. The war ended and..."  
  
"You're life didn't end there," I finish his sentence.  
  
"Yeah," he says and nods, "Yeah."  
  
I think about it, his problems and wonder what I'd do...probably hack into bank accounts and steal the money that I needed. But would I stay? With all that pressure and emotional need, would I stay? I honestly don't know and I feel less human when I realize that.  
  
"I didn't mean to dump all my problems onto you, Heero," he apologizes, "But since Quatre, I've had no one to talk to and I've learned that having someone just listen helps."  
  
I sip my broth, swirling it around in my mouth in thought before swallowing.  
  
"So, I've followed my heart, Heero. Now what?" he implores without bitterness, wanting to know, desperately, an answer.  
  
"I don't know what to tell you, Trowa," I answer him, "Do you want to go back to Quatre?"  
  
"Not when he doesn't love me."  
  
"You don't know that for sure."  
  
"I'm pretty convinced. When we'd...be physical, he just...I could tell that he wanted just to please me. I mean, he didn't want me to touch him. He would only be with me when _I_ was the one to want it...I can't do that again. And I know that he'd take me back if I went to him, but I can't keep loving him when he just pretends to love me."  
  
Okay, wrench in my plans. This is out of my depth, so I'm not sure what else I can help with.  
  
"Trowa," I tell him bluntly, "You're pretty screwed."  
  
After a moment of being incredulous, he laughs. He laughs loudly and openly. I didn't mean to be funny, but I guess it's good that he's laughing. I'm sure he hasn't in a while.  
  
"I've missed you, Heero," he warmly tells me, after he's calmed down.  
  
"I missed you, too. I had car trouble one time that I couldn't figure out."  
  
He smiles and slightly shakes his head, "I've missed your honesty...What was wrong with it?"  
  
We chat about it and it's a lot more comfortable. The tension unwinds from him, just peels off of his motions and demeanor. He looks a lot better when we wrap up the conversation.  
  
"You should go to college, I could pull strings," I tell him finally, after thinking about it, "Get a degree so you can get a better job. You're smart and that's always in your favor."  
  
"Yeah, but," he wryly smirks,"you'd need to reappear again."  
  
I shrug and say, "I can disappear again just as easily."  
  
"Yeah," he says into his cup, "You're good at that."  
  
I can't figure out what he's feeling, what emotion is pasted onto his tone.  
  
"When we were together, things felt fluid," he recalls suddenly, "Does that make sense? We worked well together."  
  
"It makes a lot of sense," I agree, "We were a good team."  
  
He looks at me, deeply and yet distantly, like debating something, maybe caught in another thought.  
  
He hesitates before he asks, "Do you want to spend the night?"  
  
I shrug. I have no plans. No plans at all. It used to scare me, unnerve me, but I rely on it now. I'm truly free.  
  
"Sure, I'd like to say hello to Cathy. See her stomach, rub it, I guess. That's what people do."  
  
He chuckles and moves the mug around his hands. Nervous? Why is he nervous?  
  
"Do you want to spend the night with _me_?"  
  
I stop. Stop everything almost; breathing, moving, blinking, thinking...And then, everything moves again, rebooting.  
  
 _Did he just mean...? Did he just say...?_  
  
He shrugs quickly, "Don't worry. It's a joke."  
  
But it's not funny. Neither of us are laughing.  
  
"Why?" I wonder, curious and skeptical. Doubtful and entertained.  
  
"We understand each other. You understand me...and I just wondered if there might be..."  
  
"Do you think I'm gay?" I query, becoming more confused. Do people, people close to me, think that?  
  
"No, not really."  
  
"So, why do you think there might be...?"  
  
My frankness is now overpowering him, but I don't mean to sound severe.  
  
"I guess I just," he pauses and he's embarrassed, "Never mind. I don't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just felt like there was something like that between us, if only a little."  
  
"Something like what?"  
  
"Attraction," he shrugs, "Let's just forget it."  
  
This is why I like Trowa. There are these moments when he cracks the silent shell that he's protected himself with and exposes himself. I admire it. It takes a lot for him, just like it takes a lot for me. We know our feelings and emotions, we just don't know how to react to them or how to use them the way we should.  
  
But I'm curious, so I tell him.  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"Maybe?" he breathes out.  
  
"I don't know," I tell him honestly, "I can't picture myself with any one, so I don't know. I've never tried."  
  
"You mean you've never...?"  
  
"Does that surprise you?"  
  
He thinks about it and replies, "I guess not."  
  
"I don't like being touched," I admit, "But I've never been touched like that."  
  
We wait, both of us. We wait for the other to make the first move. Neither of us want to, but in the end, I do.  
  
"I'll try," I say because I've felt it, too. I've felt something different than I've felt from other people. He's attractive, but mostly it's our compatibility.  
  
"Okay," he inhales sharply, "Do you want to go to my bedroom?"  
  
I just nod. It feels like being in zero g for the first time, surreal and light. Did I really say that this was okay? Do I really mean it?  
  
His bedroom is like I imagined. It's a bed, a desk, a floor lamp and a few books. Bare and simple.  
  
Trowa slowly and shyly moves to me, getting closer. His face gliding towards mine. I've seen movies. I've seen this before with actors, just characters, but I know what to do. I know to close my eyes. I know to wait and move my lips around. I know to hold his face or pull his shirt against me.  
  
But it takes years, it feels, to feel his breath against my lips. And then just his breathing. His hands slowly and lightly slide up my arms to my shoulders.  
  
"Do you want this? Really, you're not-"  
  
"Trust me, Trowa," I tell him, just as hushed as his voice and feel my breath curl back to my face, bouncing off his lips.  
  
His answer is a light kiss. It's not anything I expected. It's barely there and quick. I couldn't even react. Just something warm and dry against my mouth for a second. I feel disappointed and yet excited at the same time. This isn't how it is in the movies, so I'm not sure what to do. I'm beginning to figure out that movies are just a mimicry of human life and not really to be trusted.  
  
Again, his lips brush against mine, longer this time. Then pull back, only to slowly move on mine again. Clinging to my lips, his kiss pulling on my lower lip, lingering. I try to emulate it, pressing my mouth against his, slowly moving with it. His mouth opens slightly and it becomes wetter. There's some thrill twitching in my stomach when I think that his mouth is wetting mine, slipping against mine.  
  
It becomes deeper, opening more. Sliding our lips together makes my _skin_ tingle in a way I've never felt.  
  
I forgot to touch him while we kiss, so while my mouth is busy, I reach to his shirt and pull it towards me. His hands on my shoulders move to my neck, covering it, heating it, heating _me_. I feel hot, feverish.  
  
I feel his tongue slip in my mouth.  
  
I pull back in surprise.  
  
"I'm sorry," he breathes as he pulls me gingerly back to him, but not to his mouth, "I won't do that again if you don't like it."  
  
I want to tell him that I just didn't expect it and I could try again, but his lips are kissing my neck and I try to say it, but my mouth doesn't really move. I feel a wet trail of kisses leading to the base of my neck, and when he gets to my shoulder, I feel his teeth dig in lightly.  
  
I jolt and he pulls back, ready to apologize again.  
  
I don't let him.  
  
"Do it again," I tell him, not wanting to explain, just wanting to feel it again.  
  
Without hesitation, his mouth is against my shoulder, teeth tugging softly at my skin. Fire, _every where_ , all over. Fire and waves of something else. Arousal? Elation?  
  
As he bites, I feel my legs shake. In all the ways I've derided myself in the past for weakness, that inner voice just can't understand what's happening and I can't either. It's so chaotic and loud and it's easy to shy away from and yet all I can do is shake from it and want it more.  
  
I can feel _where_ I want more. Should I be bold? When have I ever been bashful of what I want? I want it, I do it.  
  
My hands grip his hips and hold him against me, feeling his body against me. He gasps into my skin as our desire meets, as we feel each other. And I still want more, so I move against him. I scrape my groin against his and it's closer to what I want.  
  
Trowa clutches onto me, crushes me to him and it feels even better. He bites just below my ear and my body is rattled.  
  
"Harder," my voice cracks out. I want to feel it, I want to feel him. I want to feel all I can.  
  
He does, he bites harder, sucking roughly the skin trapped in his teeth. My hands instinctive slide below his hips and grip his ass, drawing him even closer. Almost painful and beyond words, just movement and heat and friction and energy and it feels like nothing else. I find it hard to describe, hard to even comprehend.  
  
"Touch me," he grunts against my neck, words he bites into my flesh.  
  
I grab his ass harder, feel my fingers dig into him.  
  
"Touch my _cock_ ," he mumbles into my ear before nipping at my earlobe, sucking it into his humid mouth.  
  
How he says it, how it's _Trowa_ , and how he's asking me to touch him, it's arousing. It's beyond arousing.  
  
I try to unbutton his pants as he bites the shell of my ear. I fumble again. I get angry and frustrated. I feel around with my fingers, but can't figure out why it's not unbuttoning.  
  
Trowa pulls back and does it himself, and unzips them. I hate it. I wanted to do it. I feel a little useless. I feel a little stupid. They're just _jeans_.  
  
He pauses before he pulls them down with his boxers, so all I see is his skin, his hard cock. His desire for me. Scars line is abdomen and thighs, but don't touch his groin. They don't mar his penis or testicles. Not that I care, just that I notice. The person who did them had cut Trowa with a purpose, yet had some mercy. Maybe for revenge, I'm not sure. I don't care.  
  
Before he can explain them, or pull back, I grab his face and kiss him fast and rough. I'm not good, I know. It's messy and sloppy. I can feel his saliva all over my face, but it’s the only way I know how to do it now.  
  
I'm pushing my tongue into his mouth. I move it around, feeling his teeth and tongue. I can feel him breathe fiercely against my face, heavy and sporadic.  
  
Then, I do it. I touch him. I hold it and stroke it a little. I can feel him moan into my mouth, feel the vibrations sweep around my tongue and crumple into my throat. I feel viscidness in my palm as I rub the head and press my thumb just under the head and rub the skin in a circle. This is how I get off.  
  
My other hand finds his balls and I carefully hold them, stroking them, feeling the hairs and crinkles there. Discovering Trowa in ways I haven't before.  
  
He breaks the kiss and sets his head heavily on my shoulder softly panting and writhing against my hand.  
  
I start to stroke it, tight and fast. Up and down, gently, but tightly. Tight. That's at least how I like it.  
  
"Ground," he quietly gasps when he legs nearly give out.  
  
When we collapse on the ground and I'm stroking him on one side, he whispers, "Finger me."  
  
I don't mean to slow down, but I do. I fumble with my knowledge, but can't find anything about it.  
  
"How?"  
  
He reaches under his bed and searches around. After finding nothing, he sighs and sits up, throwing the blanket hanging over the bed up and looks around. As I wait, I look down and wonder if I should take off my pants, too. So, I do as he finds it and turns around.  
  
"Is this okay?" I ask, unsure if he wants me to keep them on.  
  
He nods and gives me a bottle.  
  
"Put some on your fingers and then, you know...finger me."  
  
"How?" I ask again, spreading the cold, sticky liquid on my fingers. I sniff it, but it doesn't smell very good.  
  
"I'll show you, just touch me again."  
  
"Tell me to touch your cock again," I reply, wanting to hear it again from him.  
  
He looks directly at me and says, "Touch my cock, Heero. Jerk me off."  
  
Again, hearing him say it makes me feel...everything. All the heat and desire, I can feel it all over again when he says it.  
  
So, I do. I touch him again. I feel it run smoother in my hands, under the gel, and I understand now that it's lubrication.  
  
He spreads his legs and takes my other hand. I shift to accommodate him. He leads my hand between his legs, down below his cock and balls... _Oh_.  
  
I slide one finger slowly inside him, feel Trowa in a way that I've never thought I'd feel anyone. He gasps out, eyes shut so tight, it must hurt. I keep stroking as I push my finger deeper in him and he moans out, louder than I've ever heard him before. It makes me harder and I want to do it again; I want to do it differently than anyone else he's ever been with. Suddenly, I want to be new for him, be different from Quatre, be closer to him than Quatre.  
  
I push in all the way and slide all the way out, feel the chill across my finger before pushing into the heat again. His hips shift around, pushing deeper into my hand, I feel his cock stiffen more.  
  
I push two fingers in, imagining it must be even better and it must be since he gets louder and feel it, all through his body. He smells so different now, feels so different. _I_ feel so different.  
  
Another finger and his breath hitches and his hands scratch at the ground, searching for something to grab, something to hold.  
  
The fourth finger barely fits and he pulls back, away from me.  
  
"Too much," he gasps out, "Too much."  
  
I don't apologize, but I pull out all fingers and then re-enter with two and he relaxes again.  
  
And I know this is like having sex and if this feels so good, I can hardly believe what sex must really feel like. I wonder if he's leading up to it. I wonder if that's why he asked me to stay the night, just so I can fuck him. I shiver at the thought. I don't mind if it is his motive, but I want him to tell me. I want to hear it.  
  
He grits his teeth and arches his back. A second later, he ejaculates and I can feel it inside him. I want to fuck him even more, I want him to come with me inside him. I want to feel his tightness and this desire is so alien, I don't know how to control or manage it. Is it normal?  
  
Trowa sighs out after he comes and stretches out. I look at the semen all over my hand. He watches me as I smell it, just to see if it's any different than mine.  
  
"Taste it," he whispers, so softly that I can barely hear him, but it's intense. Completely unabashed.  
  
So, I do. I lick it and he gasps like I'm licking it off his body. It tastes a little like old, moldy cheese. In one aspect, it's not very good, but I've also have tasted worse things. So, I don't mind as I suck one finger that it's on as Trowa watches me.  
  
"Come here," he tells me while I’m still licking, "Lie down."  
  
I do, stretching out, feeling the cold ground against my naked ass.  
  
"Just relax," he says, touching my chest, trailing it down slowly, farther. It feels good when his hand reaches my cock, and not just physically. Just having Trowa there, wanting to touch me, carefully touching me, teasing me. It's incredible.  
  
I close my eyes and just concentrate on the feeling. His hand warm and tight on my dick, pulling, pulling it. Pulling me closer...  
  
The first time I feel it, it's light, but I can't deduce what it is. Then it's back and it's soft on the head of my cock...and wet.  
  
My eyes shoot open and I glance down to see Trowa's mouth brushing against my erection. Currents of arousal and shock burn through me, making me ache, pushing me to beg. I want that mouth, I want to feel him suck me.  
  
"Do it," I grit out, my voice gravely and taught.  
  
And he does, just like that. His mouth sinks down and swallows me. Suction pulling me deeper in, his tongue moving against my skin. I lose it, my composure cracks and I moan out. I don't think I could have stopped it if I had tried. Again, it's like having sex, all that warmth and tightness, being inside him. Sex _can't_ be better than this. Nothing can be better than this. The way he sucks and licks and jerks, this has to be as good or even better. The way his saliva trails down my legs, soaking me, leaving me wet. _This is all too much.  
_  
I watch as Trowa's mouth circles around my stiff, red cock. His lips enlarging and his eyes snap up at me, watching me being pleasured. That intimacy...it's what throws me into my climax. Watching Trowa watching me and there's nothing I can do to stop it.  
  
And I sink into it, still focused on him, coming into his mouth. Feeling him still sucking me, swallowing down my come. I give in, I jerk back and feel the tremors take hold of me, pleasure crackling through me. I grunt and moan and sigh. I try to clutch, to hold onto the feeling for as long as I can because I don't think there'll be a second time...  
  
I pant and squirm and struggle for breath after the orgasm cools and fades.  
  
"Are you still going to stay the night?"  
  
I collect my wits back, I gather up my composure again and contemplate it.  
  
"Yes, for now."  
  
I don't look at him, but I can tell he's nodding.  
  
I sit up and stare at him, into his eyes and remark, "This doesn't help things, you know. This didn't solve your problems."  
  
He slowly nods and swallows again. I wonder if he can still taste my come...  
  
"It was just..."  
  
"It was just an escape," I answer, "But that won't help you. This might even make things more complicated; you can't rely on me for sex. I'm probably going to leave again soon. Maybe tomorrow."  
  
He rubs the back of his neck again and mutters, "Yeah, I know."  
  
I pull myself up and slide into my pants and he puts on his. He's quiet, but not in the usual way. This is how he was like when he lost his memory, when he didn't have anything.  
  
The front door shuts in the other room and we both hear Cathy's voice.  
  
"I'll be out in a minute," Trowa calls out, "And I've got a surprise."  
  
We look at each other in this silence, _our_ silence before we lose it. This connection that we have, we sit in it, we soak it up, and remember it because we don't know what's going to happen tomorrow.  
  
But as he turns to walk out, I tell him the truth. I tell him what he should already know, but has forgotten in all this mess.  
  
"Hey, Trowa," I call out and he looks back at me, "The future's still determined by you. _Your_ future."  
  
He smiles a little before he opens the door.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catherine has her baby and with the news, Heero resurfaces.
> 
> Trowa POV

It was chaos and blood. It was frightening; full of excitement, shouting, sweating, heavy breathing. Every moment colliding and sliding into each other. Each moment hanging precariously, nearly cut from the rough sounds of movement.  
  
I held her hand, sweaty and shaking. I was substituting someone else again. Her ex was gone from the picture and she had asked me to just let him go and not track him down, like I had wanted to...still want to.

I held her hand and watched her face become wet and flushed, red and scrunched, then open and gasping for more air. This repeated. I was terrified. I was so nervous and awkward. I distinctly knew I wasn't meant to be there, but I couldn't be any other place. I held her hand and never let go. This was the promise I had made years ago, when I was young and she had punched me as she cried. I couldn't let go ever again.  
  
And then it was over. Pushed from her was a fleshy, scarlet mess that hardly moved and didn't cry. It was silent and that moment of stillness cut through me with such horror and desperation. If anything happened to the baby...I don't know how she would be...  
  
But the baby softly whined and slowly moved. My heart flexed again. I began to breathe again. It was fine. Everything was fine.   
  
The nurses cleaned the red skin, and carefully wrapped him in blue. They put on a little blue hat. His swollen lips opened and found air. I smiled, I smiled so hard and so long, it hurt. I can't remember ever doing that before. I've never felt so thankful. _Never_. Not when the war was over. Not when I was with Quatre. Not when Catharine welcomed me back, wordless and just hugged me for unforgettable minutes.

Just in the tiny movements, I swelled with gratitude. Cathy had a baby. A _baby_. A life. There he was, all formed and perfect. Ugly and beautiful. In all that fear and chaos, he emerged and was fine. He was _perfect_.  
  
Cathy held him and cried. I felt such connection. I knew we were a family before then, but it suddenly really _felt_ like it. I can't explain it. It's like the difference in simply knowing the sun will come up the next day and actually feeling the warmth of it. They way she glanced up at me, like we were together, all together suddenly.   
  
I got to hold the baby before they took him away. I had never held a baby, but learned about it in her classes, how to hold it. But the dead weight of the baby doll is so lifeless and cumbersome compared to moving mass of Lucas, Catherine's baby. My _nephew_. Lucas Bloom.   
  
After that, I left Catherine so she could get some rest. I needed some air, too. I need to walk and move and be alone.   
  
So, now I lean against a pier, watching the lights of the city flicker on the dark waves. It's cold, but not cold enough for me to bother with a jacket.   
  
Being here, washed by awe and casual nervousness, I think about everything; about my past, about what to do soon, things like that. _Lucas.._.  
  
Could I be some kind of a father figure? Can I help him with his homework and play ball with him? Teach him what it means to be a man?   
  
I sigh, slowly, savoring it and fearing it. Really, what kind of man _am_ I? Was I ever a boy? My whole life, I've been treated like a soldier, not even a person. I was a creature with a purpose. I was supposed to live and kill and then be buried in an unmarked mass grave. I was never interested in toys or novelties, not that I can remember. I _wanted_ to know where to shoot a man to kill him instantly. I _wanted_ to learn how to strangle a man with just a sock. I wanted to because I had been born into war, I belonged to war and one day, I would be taken by it and I wanted all of that. I would be consumed and be forgotten...  
  
But now, here I am, working odd jobs that I never would have considered, taking care of my sister that I never thought I'd have, and now have to be the father to a nephew that was abandoned by his father as I once was. How do I tell him that? How can I give him love that's so unconditional and open? I don't even know how. I don't know where and when conditions begin and end. I don't know how to be someone that can be looked up to. And honestly, I don't know if I should be looked up to.   
  
In these vulnerable moments, I miss Quatre. I miss being with him, feeling his hands holding onto mine. He always had the right words. He knew what to do. He could be so inspiring that he would make you forget that you were awkward or ugly or unwanted. You have hope with Quatre, you have kindness. You would suddenly know what you should do. He could make you feel like you could do anything, that you were the most powerful man in the universe...  
  
But now without him, I feel so insignificant. And I hate that he did that to me. It's almost like a betrayal - to give me that confidence and to take it with him.   
  
I miss loving him and that being enough. I didn't need to pay his bills or help him raise a child. It was easy and selfish...and I feel dirty for missing it. I'm ashamed of myself for wanting to remember something that was probably never even real or there. But here I am, wanting that simplicity of being cared for and not asking why.   
  
"Congratulations," I hear behind me and before I can look back, Heero slides in next to me. Leaning against the rail, _so close to me_ , he gazes out across the water.  
  
I'm stunned. Words can't even form. He had visited before and we had grown close, but he had left suddenly, in the middle of the night. He had told me that he was going, so I wasn't too surprised. Slightly disappointed, but...  
  
He never said that he was _coming back_. That's what surprises me.   
  
"Thanks," I manage, and look ahead, too, trying to spot whatever he's seeing.  
  
"I don't have any cigars," Heero apologizes after a few minutes of me wondering what to say next. It would sound like a joke if it was any one else, but he's serious. Like he's missed something, like he should have been the one to buy and present them.  
  
"That's all right," I tell him, "I don't smoke...neither do you."  
  
He nods loosely, "That's what I thought."  
  
Another pause slips in between us and it's not tense, but not exactly comforting.  
  
"What are you going to do now?" he asks.  
  
"Do what I have been," I reply, holding back another sigh, "I have to pay bills and afford...well, everything. Car seats, diapers, food...things like that. Cathy can't work yet."  
  
"What about school?"  
  
I let the sigh out, my lungs collapsing under the pressure of his question. I knew he'd bring it up. He just didn't understand that I can't do _everything_ and that I can't rely on his help. I relied on Quatre and I've regretted it ever since. It's _my_ life and I _have_ to work now. Plain and simple. I don't have time.  
  
"Just forget it," I tell him, not wanting to get into this. Especially right now, I just want to sink in the warm excitement of him returning.  
  
"Fine," he replies, but it's sharp, "If you're interested later, let me know."  
  
This shocks me. Let him... _know_? _How..._  
  
"How will I find you?" I ask him, my words smoothly poured out, but every syllable tumbles roughly into my stomach. He wasn't supposed to come back...and he wasn't supposed to stay here.  
  
He doesn't answer, but continues to stare out at the empty water intently. So, I let it drop, too.  
  
"I had sex," he suddenly says and that breaks my reserve. I look at him, but he's unmoving, focused on what lies ahead of us.   
  
I'm not...jealous. I'm not angry. What we had was just something small and fast and no-strings-attached, but...  
  
"Oh," I fumble, "Was it good?"  
  
I'm not sure what else to say. I mean, a man losing his virginity was always a celebrated thing in the military corp, but...I didn't feel like a man after I did it. I felt the same. I felt just as empty and lost. Just as horny and unsatisfied. Only with Quatre sex got better, became something more meaningful than just a task to be completed. Until it wasn't more meaningful...and was just a task again.  
  
"No," he admits, "It was disappointing."  
  
"Oh," I reply because he lets the conversation hang there, like he needs something from me to continue.  
  
"It wasn't...what I thought it would be," he says softly, devoid of emotion or intonation, but somehow careful and fragile, as fragile as Heero can be.  
  
I nod in response and lean against the cold railing again, feeling the metal hold me back from plunging into the murky water.  
  
"Is it usually like that?" he openly asks, without trepidation or shyness, but rawness.  
  
"I guess, sometimes," I tell him, shrugging, "For some people." ' _For me usually_ ,' I want to say, but I know I can't let it out. There are some memories still caught in my lungs, not being able to even be formed. It's not like I don't want to open them up, it's like I can't. Like I won't let myself, like maybe still hidden by Zero, in the darkest parts of my mind.  
  
He nods and I can feel that conversation slip away from us, pulled away from our mouths and dropped into the silence.  
  
"How's the baby?"   
  
"Good," I smile slightly as I think about him, "A boy. Eight pounds, three ounces. All his fingers and toes..."  
  
"Weird, isn't it?" he asks and it catches me off-guard.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Just...that Cathy had a baby. Just life. It's weird. I've never held a baby. I've killed men; held them, strangling them until they died, but...I've never held anything like that. I don't think I'll ever be like that. I mean, I don't think I could raise a child. I could read all the books and watch all the movies, but I wouldn't be good at it. It's different instincts, I suppose."  
  
I swallow down the rising fear because he's right. And maybe right about _me_. I'm not that kind of person, either.  
  
"You'll do fine, though," he adds, turning to me finally.  
  
"Yeah? How do you figure?" I nonchalantly ask, finding it difficult to look him in the eye, but wanting to know. Maybe needing his confidence in me for this.  
  
"I've seen you with Quatre. When you were with him...," he pauses when I flinch. But I'm over Quatre, so why did I...  
  
"It's just that," he continues, "it seemed like no one else mattered when you cared about him. He was the only thing. You were devoted. You _are_ devoted. A kid will see that. Kids can see when someone cares about them and when someone is just trying to...At least I did."  
  
"I just keep thinking," I confess, pulling all my thoughts and worries together into ragged sentences, "What if I don't give him enough? How can I suddenly love someone who I've just met, who doesn't even know how to think for himself yet? What if he grows up and...we just don't connect? What if I'm not supposed to be here...?"  
  
"This has nothing to do with loving him," Heero cuts off my thoughts, "This has to do with him loving you, doesn't it? You're afraid he won't, but Trowa, children love anyone that takes care of them. So, all you have to do is care about him. Teach him things. Spend time with him. Teach him how to fix a car. Teach him the flute. Whatever you want to and he'll appreciate it. I know that in my own experiences, too."

I want to ask about it, what he means, but I let it drop. At least for now.

"But would that be enough? I don't always think it is," I confess and the words push against my chest. From my own experiences, it isn't always enough. I've failed a lot of relationships in my life, and that's not an easy thing to say or feel. I'm not always what people need. I'm usually just a stand-in for someone else.  
  
"Right now he trusts you and Cathy unconditionally. He has to, he'll die if he doesn't. And I know that you don't betray trust, you don't run from a battle when it gets too difficult. You don't give up hope, maybe even when you should. You didn't with me, and you didn't with Catherine. It's just a matter of time before he realizes that, too."  
  
I think about it, let his words try to wash out the doubt. I sigh.  
  
"I'm an idiot in some things," I freely admit. "I just hope not in this."  
  
When he just nods in agreement, I smirk and, shyly, I bump my shoulder against his. He doesn't return the smile but turns towards me and his face relaxes. I smile wider as I brush my shoulder into his again. His expression remains the same, but tilts and leans in. My breath catches. I feel the eyes of people that I _know_ aren't there, burning into me. I feel heat all over my face, moving all over my body...but...  
  
I lean in, too.  
  
We slowly reach each other, gingerly finding each other's lips. As familiar as it is and should be from our last meeting, it's all so uncharted and unnerving. New and haunted in every breath sucked in as our mouths open, tongues sliding against each other.   
  
Slipping in, retreating, then pushing back, his tongue moves against mine with precise desire. Just with this kiss I can tell he's wanted this for a while, like I have. Maybe in just passing scraps of thought or during long nights, when it's all I could think about, maybe he was thinking of it, too. I've never been one to be promiscuous and not wholly sensual, but there are feelings that continually surprise me. I won't delude myself, I don't love Heero as a lover, but I admit I might have a crush on him. _Such a silly crush...  
_  
Since last time he visited, I think about him often.  
  
It's not really fair that he's come back, that he's given me some hope...especially after Quatre...He shouldn't because of what happened with Quatre.  
  
One of his hands slips into my pants and I jerk back. Too fast, too open, too dizzying, too much...  
  
He runs his hand through his hair, the only nervous habit that I've ever seen him make.  
  
"Sorry," I tell him, "It's just been a while. It's...I don't know. _I don't know_."  
  
I don't know if I should jump forward or pull back into the background where I'm used to being. I'm not accustomed to making these kind of decisions. I don't know what to do. I don't know what I want.  
  
"Do you want to have sex?" he asks, point-blank.  
  
 _Dear god_ , _yes and no..._  
  
"With me?" he clarifies.  
  
"Just a one-time thing?" I wonder aloud.  
  
"If that's what you want..."  
  
Something twists; slips and slivers itself into my heart, sharp and wet. Something like desperation. Something like relief. Something that hurts and feels warm.  
  
"Are you offering more?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady and drained of hope.  
  
The question settles in between us and I nearly lose it watching his expressionless face. So still and closed. I want to gut every second that scratches by, finding something, _anything_ , that I could be missing, hidden inside it. Any way he looked any different so I could have some insight, I could gain access to what he's thinking. But there's nothing, his emotions are traceless.  
  
"Maybe," he finally admits, his eyes softening, nothing else. Just the coolness of his eyes melting and warming.  
  
"I'd like you around," I exhale.  
  
"I could help you around the house from time to time," he offers, nodding, "I know that you're having trouble with the furnace. It's a Liberty 75-283, right?"  
  
"How do you know that?" I ask and don't know why I feel so shocked. Maybe because it's so mundane, so strangely intimate.   
  
"I talked around before I...approached you."  
  
There's an awkward silence before I laugh, shaking my head.   
  
"You were _stalking_ me?" I laugh, incredulously. How long had Heero been trailing me? How oblivious had I been to not sense it?   
  
He frowns, and with Heero it's very pronounced. You can always tell when he's frowning, just like when he's smiling. It's emphasized.   
  
"I wanted to approach you at the right time," he tries to explain, "It's just something I noticed."  
  
I feel very flattered, although I know that it's so...bizarre. Heero's so odd sometimes. Doing things that normal people just wouldn't do...and that's comforting in a way because I don't know how to be normal, either. We can be misfits together, comfortably.  
  
"You probably need a 2 speed 1/4hp condenser fan motor," he adds.  
  
"You're probably right."  
  
We both wait for the other one to say something, say _it_ , and he's the one who breaks the silence.  
  
"Do you want to go buy one and install it?"  
  
"Right now? How long with it take?" I ask him, but we're both thinking about it. We're thinking about living together. About having sex. About eating together. About watching movies on the couch with Cathy. All the unspoken images and words weaving in between this.  
  
"Not long," he admits, "About an hour."  
  
"I'm not good at furnaces," I admit.  
  
"You don't need to be," he answers and walks away, slowing, waiting for me, but I hope what he was tempted to say was, ' _You don't need to be anymore._..'

***

"Just rest. I'll be in to see you in the morning," I tell Cathy. "I'll...have a surprise for you."

"Well," she says, drowsily, "Last time the surprise was Heero..."

"You'll just have to wait and see," I tell her, but with her smile, I can tell she knows it's Heero. She doesn't suspect a relationship, though. Honestly, I don't know how she'll react. After Quatre, she become even more protective of me. But...she's always liked Heero.

I close the vid-screen and lean back. "So, should we go buy the furnace?"

"Sure," he says, but pauses.

"Hey," I say softly after we don't move for a few moments. "Why was it disappointing? The sex?"

Across from me at the table, he muses. "I guess it just wasn't what I expected."

"Oh."

"It was abrupt and he seemed to be preoccupied."

"Oh," I say again, but I'm a little shocked it was with a man. "Why a man? Isn't it more traditionally with a woman?"

He gives me a long, unwavering glance and I feel like I'm missing something and it's uncomfortable.

"You're a man," he says flatly.

"Yeah...but...why?"

"So I would know what to do, Trowa," he replies like explaining something to someone who's missing the mark.

"Oh," I say again, maybe flattered, now that I found the mark. He was thinking of me. "But no good?"

He takes him time to form his response. "Like I said, it was abrupt and he was preoccupied. I think it would be different with you."

"Anyone I know?" I ask, just to get it out of the way, just so I won't have this curiosity any longer.

“No, not even someone I knew. Never got a name, didn’t need one.”

I nod and leave it like that.

“What about you? Are you seeing anyone?”

What a turn of events for him to ask about my sex life. 

“No...not since we were together.”

“Hm,” is all he responds with before adding, “I don’t know how to initiate sex, so I’ll have to rely on you for it.”

“Yeah. Sure,” I tell him and then after a moment of stillness, I realize that he’s meaning now. He wants to have sex now. 

“So, you want to go back to my room?”

“Yes," he says without missing a beat, "I think that would be most convenient.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, he's totally over Quatre...e_e


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heero POV  
> Heero's thoughts while he's watching Trowa before the baby is born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a quick re-write, done-deal, quicko piece...and we're going onto at least one more chapter at this point...sigh.
> 
> Sex in the next chapter.

Cathy’s baby is due soon. I don’t have to really look too hard to notice. She’s large, “showing” as they say, and I watch her struggle to get the door unlocked while holding a paperbag full of groceries. Trowa is working his second job as a bartender at some hole in the wall club downtown right now.

I’ve been watching them for the past three weeks. Just watching.

I’m still getting the bearings of my thoughts and what my steps are going to be.

In these moments, as she finally fumbles inside and turn on the lights of the small home they’ve bought, I remember my stay with them years ago. Both of them. As much as Trowa was there when I was recovering from my injuries, Cathy was there, too.

She never touched me, apart from the wives-tale feeling my forehead for a fever, but she was there often. Her presence was often close by, in the corner, or quietly moving through the trailer. It wasn’t unpleasant. She was quiet when she sensed I needed silence. If I needed something, she seemed to know, and allowed Trowa to care after me. She never asked too many questions, and never really demanded anything from me.

I can see why Trowa appreciates her. She exists within your sphere without disrupting it.

I haven’t known many people like that. It makes me appreciate it.

But I still haven’t approached them. I just watch and wait, but it never seems to be the right time, or maybe it’s just not the right time for me.

In a small hotel room, I watch Relena, too, but from afar. She had asked me to stay after the wars, had maybe assumed I would. I think I had assumed that I would, too. She’s a constantly perplexing enigma of emotions and vague memories. I thought the longer I was with her, the more I would come to understand that and also myself.

However, the closer I became with her, the more I realized that we didn’t have the same goal, or needed the same conclusion. She was looking for something I couldn’t, or rather _wouldn’t_ , provide.

The more she and I were together, the more I missed the others. Slowly at first, but then with enormous pressure, like an abscess. I hadn’t realized during the war the ways that they had impacted me, and how much they had changed me. Just their presence, their comradery, and drive was utterly lacking with Relena, and I found myself becoming bored, and worse, resentful toward her.

The goodbye with Relena was quick, and maybe she expected it. I left. I didn’t leave a note, but left behind my gun and hoped she understood the meaning. I was done. She didn’t need me. And I didn’t need to protect her anymore. I didn’t need to keep fighting.

And then I saw the PSA.

I realized that everyone else was doing something, together, and I was excluded. For possibly the first time in my life, I felt the pain of exclusion.

But then, my thoughts shifted to Trowa and his own absence from the commercial. The memories of us, our time together, sleeping in the same bed, eating quietly together, everything felt raw. I realized that I missed it. I missed the quiet between us. I missed his presence, his evenness and ruminations.

I don’t miss the war, but I missed our time together. It was an acute absence that I became aware of. I’ve had things…people…taken from me, but there was always a finality of death. Trowa, I found out, wasn’t dead. He was accessible, registered even. That was went I sought him.

But things change, as we changed. Our dynamic changed that time.

I sigh as I watch Cathy’s shadow move through the house, in the kitchen making dinner, I suspect, and then to the living room to sit down and wait. There’s a domestic casualness to her movements that’s comforting. Despite the hardships, she and he are alive, living together as family. When Trowa registered, he had cemented his name as Bloom. He’s changed.

Leaning back, I take a sip of coffee and watch her life I suppose people enjoy TV shows, with a certain predictability and the enjoyment of that predictability.

I hadn’t sought Trowa sexually or romantically. It just happened. He asked and I conceded. It was enjoyable, sure, but I didn’t mind it. I got caught up in that fact. After leaving, I discovered that acute absence of him magnified. It wasn’t just his presence, though. I began having dreams. I masturbated thinking about him. I thought about his body. I changed.

But there’s still one loose end. The thought actually twists in my stomach. I’ve been avoiding it because I might be losing a friend and Quatre is an emotionally and strategically valuable friend. But he’s a loose end and now that Trowa and I have changed the status of our friendship, I need to contact Quatre.

It’s when Cathy goes into labor that I realize that I have no time left.

I call Quatre.

On his personal number, I call after I get the alert from the hospital system I’ve hacked into – Cathy’s checked in. She’s in labor. She’s having the baby. Out of time. I either make this move now, or I don’t.

Quatre doesn’t take long to pick up. It’s the middle of the night, like it is here.

“What’s wrong, Heero?” He asks immediately, disheveled from sleep.

“Quatre, we need to talk.”

“Oh…okay.” He adjusts the video screen so he’s more in view and can see me clearly. “Is everything okay?”

I don’t give us time to warm into the conversation. I’ve never been timid when there’s an issue. I’m not sure if I know how to be. “It’s about Trowa. I want to know what happened.”

He fumbles, still tired and slow, “Uh…what? What about Trowa? Did something happen-”

“That’s what I’m asking. What happened between you and him?”

Blinking drowsily, he sits up a little more. “Sorry, Heero. I guess…I guess I don’t understand what you’re asking. Is everything okay?”

“Why did you break up with him?”

His eyes are suddenly sharp, and his mouth hardens. His pupils dilate slightly and his breathing’s changed. He’s alert. I guess I got the message through. “Well, the honest answer is that I didn’t, Heero. But why do you care? Why now? Did…”

He’s realized it now. In his eyes are the inner workings of realizing why I’m asking. I forgot how good he is at reading people, at reading the situation. If it were Duo, it’d take at least a half hour if I didn’t leave any hints. But Quatre has already pieced it together and I feel a wriggle of doubt as I see the weight of it on his face.

“…Oh,” he says, quietly.

We both pause in silence, not sure how to proceed. I don’t really know what we need to move forward and maybe he does, but is hesitating to. Or maybe it’s reversed.

“So,” he takes the first step, “What is _this_?”

I don’t have a reply yet, so he pushes forward. His face is dark, guarded.

“What are you looking for? Is this you asking my permission? Forgiveness? Or…I would say jealousy, but that’s not your style, is it?”

I still don’t have a reply, but I notice it’s very hard to meet his unwavering gaze. Like a magnet, I feel a push from meeting his eyes.

“Do you still love him?” I ask what I’ve been wondering for months.

Sighing, his mouth grimaces at my question, especially when it’s coming so fast and so unexpectedly. I’m sure he went to bed thinking it would be a calm night. An uneventful night.

“Yes, Heero,” he says too quietly but I can read it clearly on his lips, “I still love him.”

We’re at an impasse again, and are stilled by his admission.

“What happened?” I ask again.

“It…just didn’t work out,” he says, finally looking away and I feel relief warm my chest into breathing again, “It didn’t matter what I said, or what I did…I couldn’t compete with his insecurity. It wasn’t enough for him. I would try and the harder I would try, the more he seemed to think that I was insincere. He withdrew from me, and the more he’d withdraw, the more I would pursue him.”

Shaking his head slightly, he admitted, “Until we both grew tired of it.”

His eyes find mine again and it hurts. Maybe the fact that Quatre is hurt, or the fact that I caused it.

“I couldn’t keep him. He didn’t want to be kept. And we both said things we didn’t mean. And we both said things we meant, but didn’t want to accept…And then, it was…just the end.”

“But…” He pauses and I can see the tears of a long pain surface, but he rubs his forehead and they don’t fall. He takes a few breaths, lets me watch him take those slow and unsteady breaths. “But…I think maybe it could be…different with you.”

My chest aches at those words, at his grace, like I’ve just been kicked. I appreciate and understand how hard that was for him, how hard it will continue to be now that he knows my intent with Trowa, and how much love he still has. Maybe for the both of us. In different ways.

That pressure doesn’t ease as I watch him is this painful moment as he takes a moment to try to breathe, and clumsily falters. I like Quatre. I care about him. I have memories of him, too, that I feel an absence from. Maybe this was what I was anxious about. Not his reaction, but what his reaction would drudge up in me. And maybe I had hoped he would be furious, would blame me, but I know, _I know_ , that he would accept this, as hard as it is. Because he’s kind. Because he cares about me, too. And that isn’t fair of me. It’s selfish.

“And me?” I ask, needing his honesty.

“You?” He asks in a whisper, wiping his face.

“Do you think…it could be different for _me_ , too?”

Quatre knows us both well, probably more than anyone else knows me. Would I be deluding myself if I pursued this? I have doubts, not about compatibility between Trowa and myself, but do I have the capabilities of being in a relationship? After everything, all the training, all the memories and emotions I had to bury or cut, the nightmares I endure, and the lives I’ve stolen, is this even a possibility? Is the distance from who I was in the war to who am now sufficient to maybe, _probably_ , love someone in the future?

“Oh,” he sighs and there’s a small, raw smile on the corners of his lips, “For you…Heero, I-…I don’t know…there’s a lot…but I would like to think so. I really hope so.”

I don’t react outwardly, but absorb his answer.

“You know,” he offers, clearing his throat and continuing, “There was a time that you surprised me, a long while ago. I always was curious, but never really put thought into it. I remember when I asked the doctors to look into Trowa after…Zero. We were being held by the Trieze Faction at the time…When I asked about Trowa, I was chastised for it. I was told that I was a poor soldier. I was shamed for wanting to know if he was still alive…”

I vaguely remember that. It seems like eons ago. With the mention of the doctors, I realize that I’ve tried not to think about Dr. J for a very long while. The thought of him now makes me feel uncomfortable suddenly.

“And you stood there, leaning against a wall,” Quatre continues, “Not a care. I thought to myself, ‘Heero thinks I’m just as foolish. And I’m the…”

He pauses, feels the sorrow in his throat and tries to clear it away again.

“I’m the _only one_ who cares about Trowa,” he finishes the thought, “And I felt anger about that. Not at you, but at _them_. They had thrown us into war and didn’t even care if we lived or died. I think one of them said it was ‘unfortunate’ what happened to Trowa…or something like that. I don’t know. I only remember feeling so alone with my sorrow.”

The tears are there again, but this time, he accepts them with a gentle smile. “And then in Sanc, when Relena said she was looking for Trowa…You…”

A tear falls, glides across his cheek artfully. “You were just as surprised as I was! You wanted to find him and I realized then that you’re uncaring was an act. You had to hide it. You missed him, like-…”

He tries to laugh, but it crumbles in the quiet I give him and keep giving him.

“Like maybe like _I_ did,” he concludes.

“I’m sorry, Quatre,” I tell him because I am sorry. I’m sorry that my feelings led to this. I do remember that time. I do remember the relief when Relena said that. I remember telling her that I was saving her so she’d look for Trowa. I had meant it.

Quatre, surprisingly, laughs and takes a sharp breath in.

“It’s not your fault,” he says, wiping his face again, “Trowa is just…He’s special, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” I answer, almost feeling shame, but add, “But you are, too. To me.”

“Oh Heero,” he raggedly smiles, “This doesn’t change what you are to me, _who you are to me_.”

Suddenly there’s a hot, soft calmness trickling into my chest, releasing every strained muscle and tightened joint. I don’t feel as bruised. I don’t feel kicked anymore and I can breathe fully, without encumbrance. I see. Yes, this is why I called him.

_This._

That is _exactly_ what I needed to hear.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heero's now back in Trowa's life, but a decision has to be made.
> 
> Sexually explicit content in this chapter. Heero POV.

It’s different this time in Trowa’s bedroom. We’re still apprehensive, sure, but there’s an understanding now. There’s a want and urgency - a shared objective. His hands are strong, holding me tightly, but they slowly move. I take the time to savor it. I take the time and focus on watching him, of feeling and smelling him. He thumbs the muscles of my arms, moving up to my shoulders, neck, and then holding me there, breathing in.

His mouth rests on mine before moving, opening, pulling me in. Sucking my bottom lip carefully. I’m the one who deepens the kiss, taking and searching for more contact. I’ve thought about this after our last meeting.

_I’ve thought about it a lot._

He softly moans into my mouth as I slide my hands from his back to dig into the muscles of his hips. I pull him closer to me, _into me_. I can feel his body react, can feel his erection pulse against mine. And it feels good. It feels right. It feels like I could maybe do this for a while, not just today.

He pulls back slowly from the kiss, from the tip of my tongue against the roof of his mouth. He quietly pulls off his shirt and I echo him. Just as quickly, I’m pushing myself on him again and kissing his soft mouth. His arms squeeze me, hard and then harder, and I like it. I feel grounded, like this is real and I’m here. The discomfort makes me feel in the moment. He's slow, almost cautious. 

Through our kiss, he moves us to the bed. I follow him onto it and his mouth slides from lips to bite down my neck. His rough fingers drag down my chest, brush against my nipples, do that a few times, feeling things out.

I try to keep up, try to be active, but it’s difficult when there’s so much to feel and touch. To be honest, it’s staggering. I’m not usually affected by various stimuli, have been trained to endure and to re-focus, but a part of me wants to be overwhelmed by him. It’s a struggle to remember where and how to put my hands, to react and push back the reflex to subdue my physical reactions. I have to push against what my mind was trained to do – _resist, resist, resist_. I swallow that reflex because I want to feel everything. 

He’s kissing me again and I allow this, try to compartmentalize his touches, his being here, his scent, his sounds, all under the heavy gravity of the colony.

I feel both like I can’t breathe but also breathing in ways I never have before. Breathing through a kiss, through his hands heating my chest and neck, through the arousal we both feel. It’s strange. It’s all so strange, but good.

_It feels good._

Trowa pulls back, hands on my chest again, and I wonder if he likes it, likes the feel of my muscles under his palm. I don’t know what he likes. I suddenly become aware that I am, physically, very different from Quatre and I wonder if he’s doing this differently than when he did with Quatre. I feel guilty for everything thinking that.

“I’ve thought about you,” he murmurs, “When you were gone.”

I want to tell him I did, too. I want to tell him about Quatre. I want to tell him what Quatre said, about us maybe being good together. And maybe how I think that, too.

But, instead, I bring his fingers to my mouth and suck on the tips. I remember how I felt last time when he sucked me, how warm and soft it was. I wonder if he feels that. I wonder if he's feeling like I'm feeling now. 

As if reading my mind, as I pull two of his fingers deeper into my mouth and suck them harder, _while I watch his face, his eyes, the pupils, his breath, his chest, the scars raising and falling_ , he murmurs, “I want you to fuck me. I want you…”

Sliding his fingers from my lips, I grab his face and kiss him tightly, my tongue thrusting into his mouth, curling there. I wonder how many things I could do to him, how many places I could penetrate into. How much would he allow? How much would he beg for? 

I break the kiss just as suddenly, grateful and hungry to watch his dazed expression and gasping mouth.

“Yeah,” I agree.

He gets the lube and the smell reminds me of two months ago, in a dirty hourly motel room with a condom I bought at a truck stop bathroom, and all the way inside a stranger. Less than thirty minutes, we were done and he had left. He didn’t even come. Seemed to be hurried. Didn’t want me to even finger him.

But Trowa’s hand reaches and lightly touches my face as if I’ll flinch away. I don’t, so his fingers move behind my head and grab my hair. Arousal and need spark in that slight uncomfortability and he crushes his mouth against mine, desperate in the kiss, sucking hard on my tongue.

Coordinating our movements in the kiss, he pulls down his pants and underwear. I do the same. I really hope he begs me to fuck him. I’ve thought about that the last few months, but I don’t know how to ask for it.

Instead, I’m the one who bends between his legs and tugs his hard cock into my mouth. I don’t know how to tease, and honestly, I don’t care much about it. I just want to suck him - see how far I can go, see how it feels from this side. His surprised and deep grunt elicits a response in my body, I can feel it wash through me and my erection feels heavier, more exposed.

“ _God, Heero_ ,” he gasps and it’s dizzying. I want him to keep talking. I want to hear him. Quiet and composed Trowa completely losing his flat affect by wanting it, pleading for it.

The act itself of sucking him off is underwhelming, but there are things I do like. I like feeling his cock harden between my lips. I like tasting him getting closer, precum at the back of my throat. I like his hands on my head, sometimes gentle, sometimes demanding. I like his legs opening up.

“Hey, hey,” he says, softly, slowing my efforts, “Hey, I’m close. Can you finger me, too?”

I’m thrilled. That memory of him coming with my fingers inside him has been on my mind a lot, too.

He hands me the lube and I slip it over my fingers.

“Can we have sex after you come?” I ask, curious.

There’s a shadow of a smile as he answers, “I sure hope so…”

That satiates me. I look forward to it, and to this – my fingers nudging into him as I watch his eyes lower into slivers and his mouth open, sucking in a puff of air. I’ve heard about the prostrate, but my knowledge and skills are still limited. I try to move around, searching, watch his face for any indication of something different.

“Heero,” he grunts after some exploration, “Suck me off. _Quit screwing around_.”

A little disappointed, but excited by his words and his half-closed eyes watching me, I start sucking and licking him again. I try to put together some sort of rhythm as I finger-fuck him with two fingers. He moans, softly gasps, getting harder in my mouth, driving himself deeper into my palm. I adjust and allow him. Whatever pleasure he wants, I want to give it.

“I’m close,” he whispers, breathing more, getting quieter, “I’m close… _I’m coming_.”

I appreciate the warning, but I knew with how his body was clenching, how his dick was straining, how his hips were moving into me. He comes, hot spurts on the roof of my mouth, and that surprises me although I don’t know why. His body trembles and clenches around my fingers, and I really hope that I could be inside him one day when that happens.

Awkwardly, I spit his semen into my discarded shirt as I wipe my mouth. It’s a bit too overwhelming right now. Too many sensations right now. But maybe later. Maybe another time.

I let him regain his bearings. I can be patient. I watch him breathe, but don’t touch him. I’m still not comfortable with initiating anything.

“Come here,” he breathes out, and I do. He adjusts so his legs are on my shoulders, aligns his back, gestures that I move forward, closer to him.

“You’ll have to push it in. Go a little slower at first. It’s been some time,” he instructs, leaning back.

“Do you want this?” I ask, surprising us both with the question.

There’s a pause as he feels my words and weighs them. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Okay,” I tell him, start moving forward, cockhead pressing into him.

His hand grips me tightly, holds me back. “Do _you_ want this?”

It would be easy to kiss him, not answer, but I can see the magnitude of the question in his soft, wondering gaze. He needs this, as much as I needed Quatre’s words, he needs mine at this moment. This is a moment of significance between us and where we are heading. Do I want to stay here, to follow his pace, to settle, to open myself to the possibilities of a life shared with Trowa?

_Do I want this?_

“I want you,” I tell him.

His hand is still tight on me, face guarded, but his eyes soften with a sadness I don’t know yet. I haven't experienced it yet.

“I want you,” I repeat, trying to comfort or assure him.

The grip loosens and he nods. I lean in to kiss him and he keeps it chaste, but lingering. His fingers touch the hand on my cock, spurring it to move, silently urging my body forward. I enter him carefully and slowly, moaning into his mouth, but he won’t let me break the kiss. I don’t open my eyes- _too much, too many things_ \- I just let myself feel everything. The weight of his legs on my shoulders, his hand on my thigh, mouth on mine, and the hot, tight pressure of being inside him.

I pull back, thrust into him, and now he’s the one moaning into my mouth and I’m the one desperate to keep kissing him. I build a momentum and he’s quick to follow. Yes, _this_ , this was what I was hoping for, what I was looking for. I’m finally inside Trowa and fucking him against his bed, and I can only hear us in the world and it’s good. It’s wonderful, in fact.

As I get harder, start to lose my restraint and let myself lose it, he pulls away. “Let’s change positions.”

This is unexpected, but I let him move me. He pushes me on the bed, on my side, and he lies next to me, his back to me. Pulling up his leg, he explains, “From behind. Just hold my leg up, it gives you more control.”

I settle behind him, grab his leg and feel the muscles tense under my hand. He’s still taller than me, so I can’t reach his neck, but I give his shoulder a short, encouraging bite before leaning my cockhead into his ass again. He sucks in a breath, but not in pain, I think it’s just anticipation.

I start fucking him again and, in this position, I can’t go in very deep, but I can tell something is different immediately. I can see his back spasm with breath, can feel him tense around me inside him. I keep pushing, rocking in and out, and I can hear him pant for breath and it’s so intoxicating, I seek out more. I fuck him hard, hold him closer to me, pounding into him. I hold his leg up, opening him to me, _for me_ to fuck. 

He moans, low and sharp. Over and over. His back shuddering in pleasure, lifting and falling unsteadily for breath. I plunge myself so fast and deep as I can, he grits out my name, gasps out. He starts quickly stroking himself as I’m grinding into him, and I can tell he’s close to coming again.

That throws me. I wanted longer, more, faster, but just thinking about Trowa’s orgasm, _the spray of semen being pumped out of him, like it was in my mouth_ , and I’m too far gone. I can’t stop it. I don’t even think to pull out, I just let that pleasure and heat wash over me. I rock into him, deep in him, and let each tremor of euphoria spark inside my brain.

I can feel his body become stiff, impossibly clenched around me, as he is jerked into another orgasm. Grunting, coming on his bed, his muscles tensing and twitching. Gasping for breath, with me still inside him. And then, with a sigh, relaxing.

I pull out of him and lie still, feeling his heat beside me and he swallows and pants, back still turned.

There’s a long silence. Minutes long. I wonder if I’m supposed to say something, or do something, or if this is enough.

After nothing, I decide to say what needs to be said.

“I talked to Quatre,” I tell him.

He tenses, and very quietly asks, “About what?”

“About you and me.”

That gets a reaction. He turns to me, guarded, maybe even angry. “Why?”

“Because he needed to know,” I tell him flatly, “Just like you need to know that he’s still in love with you. You were wrong.”

Hurt, raw pain, is on his face before he quickly covers it with absolute nothingness – a hard, cold face that lets nothing in or out. I know that face, seen it before when he was acting as Oz.

No, I suppose this maybe wasn’t the best time.

“Why are you doing this?” He asks and each word is gutted. “I don’t-”

“You need to make a decision, Trowa. I want you to have all the information so that you can make an informed decision.”

Confusion twitches in his eye, but nothing else gives him away. He’s closing himself off to me, but I press on because this needs to happen.

“I do want you,” I state, as concisely as I can manage, “But I don’t want to come into something unrealized. If you’re going to be with me, Trowa, it’s not going to be because you’re missing Quatre. I don’t want you looking back. If you’re still in love with him, he’s still in love with you. He’d still take you back. You could be with him if you wanted…”

His throat struggles to swallow as the words sink in. And he deduces, “…or be with you…?”

“It’s your decision,” I say without any sway, “Whatever you decide, I’ll accept it. But I can’t have you wanting it both ways, one foot in and the other out. It’s not how you work, and not me, either.”

“And if I go back to him…?” He whispers.

“We go back to what we were.”

“And you’ll leave again.”

“Yes,” I confirm, “And I’ll leave again.”

Slowly, propping himself up, he asks evenly, “And if I want you to stay…?”

“Then…we’ll figure it out.”

He shakes his head in thought and softly says, “Everything you do…You really do think everything out. Leaving no loose ends…”

“It’s better this way.”

He looks at me, really looks, like being able to see each follicle and cell of my body. “And what do you want?”

I hadn’t really taken that into account.

I watch him, watching me, then answer, “I want you to be honest.”

“Heero,” he murmurs, strained. Glances at the stained bed to collect his thoughts.

I’m not sure if he’s asking something.

“I think,” he says after another minute and it’s suddenly so loud against our silence, “I think I’d rather that you stay.”

And that was it. I had my answer.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, happy ending.


End file.
